Guernica
by RedHatMeg
Summary: “Guernica? This… this small town? What’s with it?”,“I… I feel… It seems that… that it had been…” He clenched his hand on the shoulder. His voice and head started to shaking. “That it’s still bombarded…" Two-shot.
1. Guernica

**Guernica**

South Italy knocked to the Spain's door. When he was waiting for the other nation to open and greet him with this goofy smile, he thought that this jackass had to be really excited because of visit. Antonio always loved to see his little Romano, especially after the unification of Italy. And when Romano was thinking about it deeper, he also liked this visits. There was always such nice atmosphere in his former caretaker's house. After all, it was the place, when Romano spent most of his life, so every corner was full of warm memories. Antonio always was making some pizza or churros. No matter what was happening in the world, Spain was always cheerful and full of hope. That was making South Italy full of hope as well.

However, the fate didn't let them lately see each other very often. Since the beginning of Spanish Civil War, Spain hadn't much time for Italy's visits. That's why Romano, being annoyed because of not seeing Antonio so long, finally decided this beautiful April afternoon to pay him unexpected visit. That's why he was now standing at the older nation's door and waiting for him to open.

_Of course, tomato bastard isn't hurry up_, was Romano's thought, when the longing began to be more and more annoying. He was going to knock harder and yell at Antonio, but door had been opened and South Italy finally saw Spain. Older man smiled happily, seeing youngster before him, opened the door further and with cheerful scream: "Romano, long time no see!", hugged his guest. Romano harshly pulled him away, but Antonio knew him too well to feel sad about it.

That was the moment, when South Italy could see for the first time from such long time of departure his face. And Italian couldn't resist the impression that Spain's tanned skin was a bit pale, his forehead – sweated and his hair – messed. But Romano only loosed his shoulders and let his caretaker lead him inside, to the living room. Next, Antonio made him sit at the table. But he himself hadn't sat, yet. He only smiled to Italian and leaned his hand on the board.

"Are you hungry, Romano? I think, I have some churros from yesterday. Or maybe you would prefer fresh tomato?"

"Whatever, bastard, just hurry up." Romano growled.

"Impatient as always." Spain giggled.

South Italy's eyes were fallowing Spanish as he quickly went to the kitchen. At first sight everything was normal, but there was moment – slightly a few seconds – when Spain's hand leaned on the door frame. Romano rose his eyebrow with light surprise, but he ignored this weird behavior of his host. After few minutes of waiting for Antonio, he started to tap his fingers on the table. What this tomato bastard was thinking – making him waiting for so long for a meal?

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Spain was taking out from the cupboard the can with churros and tossing it on the plate. He was very excited that Romano came to him in such hard time like this. Even if he couldn't expected any comfort words from Italian, his company was already cheering him up. Truth to be told, he was thinking that he will be all alone in his own house, with aching and tired body, when suddenly he heard the knocking to the door. And when he opened them, he saw angry as always South Italy. So Antonio decided to enjoy this visit fully. And this pain and tiredness won't disturb him in spending time with his cute Romano.

Antonio smoothly, almost dancing, took the plate with churros and came into the room, smiling to Romano.

"Finally, bastard! I'm starving!" He screamed, but it made Spain smile even wider and he even giggle.

He walked with this happy-go-lucky grin on face in Romano's direction, holding the plate with both hands. But when he was in the midway to table, he suddenly felt in his left shoulder pain so strong that Spain screamed, putting his hand on the aching place, and almost immediately fell on his knees. Like on slow motion churros landed on the floor, right before him. Romano's eyes widened with shock.

"SPAIN!" He screamed, stood up from the table and quickly ran to Antonio, who was still kneeling on the floor and covering his shoulder with hand.

South Italy stoop right beside his caretaker. That was the moment, when Romano saw it – red stain right on the Antonio's shoulder; the stain that with every second was becoming bigger and bigger on Spaniard's shirt. In the first moment Romano felt slight wave of panic. What he supposed to do? What had happened just now, anyway? Meanwhile Antonio started to take quick, harsh breaths, until he finally collapsed right into Romano's arms.

"He-hey, bastard! Don't die on me!" Italian screamed with panic, shaking the older nation.

Spain lifted his head to look at South Italy. Right now, Italy could see his eyes. Those green, always cheerful eyes now seemed to be completely washed from this cheeriness. They were shallow and lifeless. Antonio looked down and removed his hand from wounded place to only stare on his own blood on the palm, until his face frowned in the grimace of pain and he put his hand back on the shoulder. Another wave of pain and Spaniard yelled, making Romano worry even more.

"Damn it!" He cursed. "Spain, Spain! What happened?!"

"I… I think… Guernica…" Antonio started, breathing slightly, but he cut, screaming from pain.

"Guernica? This… this small town? What's with it?"

"I… I feel… It seems that… that it had been…" He clenched his hand on the shoulder. His voice and head started to shaking. "That it's still bombarded… They're supporting Republican and… I know… I know it's… it's bad thing… but… but there are innocent people…"

Romano's eyes snapped open. He gritted his teeth.

"Oh, Romano…" Spain started to cry, burring his head in other man's chest. He was still inhaling the air with much effort. "I… I can't stand it, anymore. My people are divided and… and fight with each other… hurt each other… kill each other… My body is… on its limit… I'm so exhausted, Romano."

He rested his head on younger nation's chest. Italy didn't pulled him away, he just wrapped his arms around his caretaker, didn't minding that Antonio's blood started to soaking through Romano's shirt. Soon Spain felt another wave of pain, but he only bit his lip.

"Damn civil war…" Was the only words that escaped from Romano's mouth.

He just realized that Antonio was suffering horrible things. War was always bad for the nation, but war within your own body could drive you to insanity and despair. Romano felt the wave of guilt, when he thought that he was, in some twisted way, the reason of Antonio's bad condition. After all, Romano, Feliciano and that potato bastard were sending to Spanish fascists guns and supporting them. But the worst thing was that he – South Italy – couldn't make this pain stop. Even without their stubborn bosses, there was no chance to make Spanish stop the fight. It was war for the power. And it could be stopped only, when one of the fractions – Republicans or fascists – gain the power or make the peace pact with other group. He also couldn't help much with bombarding of Guernica right now. So only thing, he could do, was holding Spain in tight embrace.

Suddenly he heard Antonio's giggle, but this giggle sounded really sad. Like laugh through tears. Romano looked down at his caretaker.

"I'm sorry, Romano." Spain said. "I guess, this churros can't be eaten right now."

"Idiot, someone is bombarding Guernica and you worry about food?! Come on." He said, standing up and picking Antonio up. "We have to take care of your wound."

Spain's house was as big as Romano remembered, but he knew exactly, where was Antonio's bedroom. He led older man with arm wrapped around him and hand on the waist. Spain was wobbling, probably from the loss of blood and luck of energy. When they finally got into Antonio's room, Romano sat the Spaniard on the bed and left the room to soon return with first aid kit. He quickly marched to Spain, put the box beside the man, and started to unbuttoning his shirt. Antonio let him, observing the floor with absent look. His body was full of fresh and old scars. He didn't say or do anything, while his step little brother was fixing his wound and, after that, he put him into bed and covered with sheet.

"Rest for awhile, Spain." He said. "Don't worry. I will stay here with you."

"I should find you some shirt for exchange." Antonio sat, but Romano gently pulled him back to lying position, and said:

"Imagine it's tomato juice."

Smile appeared on Antonio's face and he laughed. But sudden wave of pain made this beautiful smile fade away. Spain hissed and once again started to breath harshly. South Italy put his hand on Spain's forehead. It was sweated and hot. Italian bit his lip and took other man's hand tightly. He was so totally helpless. He could only sit here and watch as Antonio suffer.

"If… if I would die…" Spain started, smiling tiredly. Italy widened his eyes. "If civil war would destroy me, it's… it's good that… that I could see you, before it will happen."

"Idiot, you won't die. Don't even dare to say it!"

"I'm not… strong enough, Romano. My body… won't be resisting in eternity."

"Bullshit! Do you remember how many times you were in condition like this?! And you always was your happy-go-lucky self! No matter, how hard you had fallen; no matter, what had been done to you, you survived this and smiled this goofy, cheerful smile of yours!"

"Romano, are you… crying?"

South Italy really was crying, but he just continued:

"When everything around you was falling apart, when it seemed that there was no hope, you were still smiling! This smile was your strength! And mine as well!"

"Romano…"

There was a silence between them for a moment. Spain looked at South Italy. His eyes was still shallow, but there was something in them. Something strong. Something like… determination.

"Romano," He started. His voice was so quiet that Romano barely heard it. "cheer me up, please."

South Italy frowned his eyebrows and thought for a moment. He never was good in making someone smile. Well, not intentionally, because there were moments when he accidently do or say something that made Spain laugh. Now he had to only remember one of this things, but it was hard. His memory didn't want to cooperate. His mind was empty. Damn it, Romano! Think, think, think. Why he had to be useless even in something so simple?

Suddenly Spain, just like that, started to laugh. Surprised Italy looked at him.

"You look just like tomato." Antonio giggled.

"You called me tomato. You're returning to health, bastard."

Spain was still giggling. Suddenly he hissed with pain, but then his eyes blinked with surprise and after few seconds he smiled to Italy.

"The pain stopped." Antonio said, grinning even wider. "The bombarding of Guernica is over."

He started to laugh with relief. Romano couldn't help, but laugh with him. Spain sat in the bed and wrapped his arms around South Italy, who immediately returned the hug. However, they both knew that it wasn't the end of Spain's suffering. The Spanish Civil War wasn't over, besides Antonio still had to deal with the loss of his people in Guernica. Damn Hitler, Mussolini and Franco. In times like this Romano regretted that he and Feliciano were fascists.

"Thank you for being here." Antonio whispered, waking Romano up from his grim thoughts. "Without you I wouldn't survive this nightmare."

"You welcome, tomato bastard." Romano broke the hug. "Hey, do you want something to eat? I will go to kitchen and find something. Just wait for it."

* * *

**I know that Guernica is technically the part of Basque Country, but the idea of Antonio in pain was too temptating to refuse it and make an OC of Basque Country.**

**It can be two-shot, if you will show me some interest in it.**

**Also I have weird urge to write something with Badass Trio (Bad Touch Trio, Bad Friends Trio... well, you know about who I'm talking).**


	2. Guernica II

**Guernica II**

This World's Fair was Romano's idea. Italian hoped that some entertainment will cheer Antonio up and help him even for a moment forget about the civil war. Because South Italy couldn't help Spain with ending of the war (even if he wanted it from the bottom of his heart), he at least tried to make the signs of it more bearable. And the fact that after history with Guernica many nations were solidarizing with Spain and showing their disapproval to such cruelty, it seemed that Antonio wasn't feeling lonely. However, every mention of Guernica made his usual smile fade away and eyes of Spanish became suddenly distant. Romano could only guess what his father figure was feeling, when he was thinking about bombarded town.

That's why Romano decided to go with Antonio on the _Exposition Internationale des Arts et Techniques dans la Vie Moderne_ to make the older nation more relaxed (it was really weird that Spain, of all people, had to relax in the first place). Besides, there was always chance that they could see something really interesting.

So there they were now, walking through the side-walk on the open space and observing the pavilions. The weather was nice – the blue sky was cloudless and warm. On some of the square lawns green grass was watered by fountains. National flags were lazily waving on the wind. Eiffel Tower, which was rising above them, was reminding Romano that they were on Francis territory, so he had to be careful to not meet the man.

Antonio seemed to be really excited. He was running and watching everything with child-like curiosity (and child-like abandoning of one thing, when his attention had been caught by another), grabbing Romano after himself. Italian was screaming at him for running so fast, but in his heart, he felt happy that Spain was again his cheerful self. That was Romano's goal, after all.

But soon Spain bumped (falling hardly on the side-walk) right into France, who was the guide for few other nations. Romano could see between them his silly brother, Arthur, Feliks, that snow bastard and – of course, because Francis had to invite him – this damn potato head and his damn albino brother. Antonio looked at the Francis from the ground and smiled widely, standing up slowly. France also grinned. South Italy wanted to run away, but he had to suppress this urge. There was no way he would leave Spain alone with this pervert, especially when the Spaniard was in such condition.

"Oh, Francis! Long time no see!" They shook their hands.

"Come with us." France proposed. "You can be lost here."

"No way!" South Italy protested and he was ready to call France few names, but Spain smiled cheerfully and said:

"Of course, Francis. Thanks a lot. You're really nice."

And, grabbing Romano by wrist, Antonio joined to the group. Romano only sighed deeply. Well, maybe it won't be that bed? France won't abuse Antonio with witnesses, right?

In first five minutes of the trip, everything was going fine. They were walking slowly through the side-walk, stopping at the every pavilion, watching it and asking few questions to the people that were in charge there. As a nations, they didn't quite know what their bosses were preparing to show on the World's Fair. Sometimes Prussia or France was whispering something to Spain and all three were laughing about it. At first Romano was looking at them coldly, but seeing Antonio in good mood made him softened immediately. As long as they didn't make him think about civil war and Guernica, he had no reason to separate Spain from his old friends, especially when Antonio seemed to enjoy their company.

They stopped in the middle of the side-walk. On their right side was standing the German pavilion, on the left – Russian pavilion. Because Russia was insisting to see his stand first and everybody knew that it could end rather painfully, if they would refuse, France directed the group right to the Russian pavilion. Between two red flags was standing stone pavilion and on the top of it was tall monument with two people – man in longs with spenders, hanged on his bare chest, and a woman in simple dress. His left hand was holding the hammer, hers right hand – sickle. Both items were touching each other.

Ivan came to the woman and after short talk with her in Russian, he turned to the rest and started to explain:

"The architect of the pavilion is Boris Iofan, Vera Mukhina is the one, who designed this statue. If you, rotten capitalists, hadn't notice, it represents worker man and peasant woman – the working class that suffered through centuries, because of…"

"Ivan, stop this propaganda." England said. "We've got the concept already."

"Ve, let's check your pavilion, Ludwig!" North Italy cooed, grabbing his friend by hand and dragging him to the opposite pavilion, while Germany blushed slightly.

They changed their direction to tall, white, square tower, crowned with eagle and swastika.

"What kind of moron had put it here, in front of Soviet pavilion?" Alfred asked. Ludwig chocked and explained:

"Our fuehrer. He insisted on this place, because it supposed to be bulwark against communism. Well, that's what I've heard, anyway."

"Oh, that's why!" America screamed. "Well, I could also think about it."

Germany started to talk with a man, who was at the pavilion. Then Ludwig came back to the nations, chocked and said with smile:

"Simple, classical and with Nazi touch. _Herr_ Speer is the author of the design."

"Of course." South Italy puffed. "And who else it could be? Damn it, potato bastard, your boss is so theatrical…"

"Romano," Spain started with the tone of parent, who wanted to lecture his child about swearing. "don't be rude."

France only shrugged and waved his hand, ordering the rest to go further. Nations passed the tower and gone straight. After almost half a minute they've approached small, inconspicuous building that was bringing to mind some little villa with patio, then pavilion that supposed to represent the country. It was different then Russia and Germany's stands. It had large, glass windows, but one of it, the one right to the glass under the front door, was covered by poster with some text. Building had three floors (including ground-floor). There were also other stairs, or rather growing pathway to the open yard. On the right side from the entrance was standing slim, pointy figure. The building was crowned with the big, but simple letters: "España". Spain (and South Italy right after him) started to climb on the long stairs from patio's side that was leading to the entry and soon he came inside.

Oh, if Romano knew what they were going to see, he would take Antonio out of there.

All over the walls inside was hanged photos. Photos of ordinary Spanish people – men, women, elders and children; the photos of soldiers and the photos of destruction of Spain's land. Also few anti-war posters. Seeing all this things, Antonio dropped his jaw and seized everything with wide open eyes, speechless. He heard the sound of firing guns and screaming women. He saw his people running and dying. Something in his heart started to aching and he seemed to be near to cry. He was deaf on the voice of his companion, who was calling him with concern. He was now somewhere else. He was now with his suffering people.

Romano quickly ran to him, wrapped his left arm around Antonio's shoulder and started to lead him out from the pavilion, but Spain suddenly woke up from the trans and gently broke away from his embrace.

"Romano, I…" He began with nervousness, but then he smiled lightly. "I want to see it all."

"Damn it, Spain. You've came on this Fair to relax, not to think about this fucking civil war!"

"I… I know, Romano." Antonio replied and looked at Italian. "But I still want to."

"Are you masochist or something?"

"I'm just curious, Romano. Who knows?" He smiled a bit wider. "Maybe further there are some more happy things?"

"Forget it, tomato bastard!"

"Oh, please, Romano." Spain begged with puppy eyes.

South Italy was watching him for a moment. He didn't want to agree on this. No, he won't let him think about this whole damn civil war on a day, when Spain supposed to be relaxed and cheerful! Nobody can depress Antonio today, and Antonio himself wasn't exception!

That's why agitated Romano came to him and grabbed him by hand to drag away from this place. They came out and started to going down the stairs. They've passed few modern statues and soon they were once again in front of pavilion. Other nations were waiting for them with longing, impatience or even agitation. They were prepared to go to next stand, but Spain suddenly stopped, because something caught his attention. He rapidly ran through the other (those shorter) stairs and go to the middle floor of the pavilion.

"Spain, where the hell are you going?!" Romano screamed, but he didn't received the response. Antonio was too curious to pay any attention to him.

There was large fountain – round hole, filled with water. Weird, spiral thing, shaped in the end like an arrow, was hanged above it. There was a letters on the floor: _Mercure Espagnol Dalmaden_. But the thing that caught Spain's attention was on the wall in front of him. It was large, black-and-white painting. At first sight Antonio was seeing only odd, unrealistic, double-jointed characters and some squares and triangles, but as long as he was observing it, he was finding more and more details. First, in the middle of the painting was a horse, who's open widely muffle and little eyes were showing fear and agony. He saw on the left side a bull and crying woman, who was dangerously swaying back her neck and holding in arms lifeless baby. He could almost feel her despair and… was it steaming volcano in a distance? Next to woman was lying a defeated man with widely opened arms. Soon Antonio realized that the man's right hand was tighten on the broken knife. On the right side of the painting Spain could see two dim-like heads. One was coming out from the darkness, other was owned by a woman, which had one foot small and the other enormous and it was lying on the ground, amputated from the rest of shapeless body. The last character, who was on the far left, was someone, who's hands were risen up, while he seemed to be quickly eaten up by the darkness, screaming with helpless horror. Above the horse was hanged sun with lightbulb inside.

Spain was hypnotized by the image right before him. This chaos, this panic, this pain – whole painting's presence with all its horror was absorbing his attention. He hadn't even noticed, when certain man was approaching him. Man had tanned skin, sleek, black hair and large, crooked nose. He wore white shirt with tackled sleeves and black tie.

"Do you like the painting, mister?" Man asked in Spanish, waking Spain up from the hypnosis.

"Yes." Antonio smiled and bowed his head lightly in greeting gesture. "You must be the author, right?"

The man smiled and leaned his hand to Antonio. Spain shook it.

"Pablo Picasso." The artist introduced himself.

At first Spain's eyes widened with disbelief. Then he looked at the Picasso with amazed grin. He couldn't believe that he met one of his most famous living artists. But he calmed himself down and gazed again on the painting.

"What's the title, mister Picasso?" He asked, smiling friendly.

"_Guernica_." Picasso replied, also smiling and saying this word slowly and quietly.

Antonio's grin faded away, his eyes snapped open. His hand reached unintentionally left shoulder, where Guernica was lying. He still was feeling the pain in that place. Then his eyes rolled from his wound to the painting. Suddenly soundless screams of the characters became louder and louder in his ears. Chaos frozen on the canvas seemed to be more dynamic, when he was remembering that fateful day. In this painting, which theoretically was abstract and out of reality, everything seemed to be real and true. Every detail seemed to be record of factual event. In some twisted way this unrealistic scene was the most naturalistic exposition of war, Antonio Fernandez Corriedo ever saw. Demons, painted on _Guernica_, were inside his head. Inside head of every person, who survived the horror of war.

That was the moment, when Romano and other nations started to gather in the place, where Antonio was and now they also could see the big painting in black and white. Ones of them – like Gilbert – were glaring at it clueless (it was cubism, after all), others – like Feliciano, Ivan or Alfred, who were familiar with modern art – seemed to try to interpret it. South Italy made only one glare at _Guernica_. His eyes quickly rolled to Spain and they widened with fear. He leaned closer to his face.

"Spain, are those bastards bombarding you again?" He whispered to Antonio.

Spain woke up and blinked at him, in one, quick moment didn't knowing, what the younger nation was talking about. But Spaniard soon realized that his hand was still on his shoulder. So he removed it and smiled friendly to Italian.

"No. I'm fine, Romano." Antonio's voice was quiet, but calm.

Romano sighed with relief, but then he wore his usual wry grimace and said louder:

"So can we leave now, tomato bastard? There are many other things to watch and you supposed to relax."

"I guess, we can go, if you really want it that much, my little tomato." He turned to Picasso and bowed his head in 'good bye' gesture. Artist returned the act and smiled.

France led everybody to the entry.

"Man, I will never understand this modern art." Gilbert commented.

"That's because you're too barbaric, _mon cheri_." Francis replied.

"No, I'm just too awesome for abstractions." Prussia said and laughed trickily.

Spain took one last glance at the painting. How could he knew that next time, when he will see it, so many things will happen to him and to the world?

* * *

**Man, I think, I've failed with the description of Spanish pavilion. But I seriously had problem with it - the plan was really unreadable and remember that I had to write it in ENGLISH, and English isn't my native language.**

**And I really don't know what means this sign at the fountain, but maybe when you check Mercury Fountain, you will find out.**


End file.
